


and you ain't no friend of mine

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Collars, Hand Jobs, Leashes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Puppy Play, guest starring a surprise Burn Gorman character, mentions of more hardcore BDSM, there are actual dogs in this fic but NO bestiality occurs, there's a lot of plot before the porn, this fic was described to friends as 'zany' and I'm hoping that it lives up to that label
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 18:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: Newt's gone missing, and Hermann enlists a furry friend to help him find his partner.





	and you ain't no friend of mine

**Author's Note:**

> (title comes from the Elvis song. Thank you Sarah for being patient with me getting this ridiculousness out of my system)

Hermann isn't usually one to worry about the comings and goings of his lab partner. Certainly, Newton has made it clear over the years how much he values his privacy, especially from Hermann, as if Hermann really gives a damn what the man does in his spare time. Newt could be practicing Satanism and moonlighting as a jewel thief for all Hermann cares. It isn't as if Hermann has any _interest_  in taking up Newt's free time (at least, none that he’ll admit to himself). And whatever Newt gets up to, it doesn't seem to affect his work.

Usually.

The problem is, Newt hasn't been in the lab the last week. Hermann is under-exaggerating to say he's reached the point of being _concerned._  Newt hasn't seemed to have told anyone where he's gone: he didn't put in for leave, and he hasn't been answering his phone, or his email, or any of his social media. Hermann has stooped so low as to create a bloody _Instagram_  account, just to comment on Newton's last photo taken three weeks previous (a picture of himself in sunglasses, on a beach somewhere far away from the Pacific during his last vacation, smiling brazenly at the camera). Hermann left a message on the picture: _Doctor Geiszler, please give me a call when you see this message. Respectfully, Hermann Gottlieb._ Hermann knows that this isn't kosher for a quick, thoughtless social media post, but he's hoping the atypical response will pique Newt's interest, if only to shoot back some quick insult. Just to let Hermann know that he's still alive.

Maybe Newt's gone and fucked off back to the states, gotten tired of their shared lab space and the bleaker and bleaker news that each of their respective discoveries brings along. Hermann might have announced last week that the next Kaiju attack was less than two months out, a far shorter period than the six months between the last and the one before it. Newt might have hypothetically proven two weeks ago that nuclear fission and radiation would not have any effect on a Kaiju rated higher than a category IV. So, bad news all around.

Still, to leave without a trace? Extremely odd. Hermann knows Newt isn’t just practicing some short-term hermitic lifestyle, since there was no answer at his apartment door when Hermann tried to catch him at home. Despite a fruitless fifteen minutes of Hermann's insistent knocking, annoyed berating, and threats to withhold the homemade edibles that they had planned on spending a slow weekend devouring, Newt’s apartment remained silent and dark.

That's why, when Hermann is roused awake by an insistent scratching at his front door at two in the morning, his first thought is _Newt_. As his brain wakes up to the realization that scratching on somebody's door is an odd way to get their attention, his second thought is _Newt hurt?_

Hermann stumbles out of bed, flailing for his cane, cursing as he almost knocks his water glass to the ground, the bottom wobbling but just barely flattening back out. He flicks on the hall light but leaves the rest of the apartment dark as he stalks towards the door, his sleepy eyes adjusting to the dimness of the space.

The scratching noise is indeed coming from the bottom of the front door. For a moment, Hermann wonders if this is a trick. Some sort of trap to catch him unawares. Perhaps someone really has kidnapped Newt for some nefarious scientific plot, and Hermann is next on the list.

Newt would probably laugh at that. Say something like, _nobody would have to kidnap you dude. You'd willingly get into their car to argue that they’re wrong about something._  Bastard. Bloody missing bastard, making Hermann's gut twist with worry.

Hermann peeks through the peephole, frowning when he gets a good look outside. "What the hell...?"

He grabs the handle and swings the door open. Outside, sitting on his stoop, soaking wet from the pouring rain and splattered in mud, is a very odd-looking dog. Some sort of mutt, flecked with interesting patterns of brown and black swirls and spots all over his coat, ears floppy and soft, eyes green and miserable until they catch sight of Hermann. As soon as the dog lays eyes on him, its short, stubbly tail begins to wag with a blinding speed, and it barks and pants, tongue wagging as it makes a half leap with its front paws.

"Er, hello there," Hermann says. Yes, saying hello to a street dog on his stoop seems like a very two am thing to do. Though, perhaps it isn't a street dog, seeing as there's a collar around its neck with some sort of shining metal tag. The dog barks again and has the audacity to trot into Hermann's foyer, sit on the carpet, shake off the water (splattering plenty of it on Hermann's pajama pants) and then pant and give him a happy grin.

"Yes, yes, you're lost." Hermann sighs and closes the door.

Carefully, he leans into his cane and bends over, reaching a hand slowly out, not wanting to make any sudden moves to frighten the creature. Nasty bites, dogs have, and Hermann isn't looking to get one. The dog doesn't seem to mind his presence at all, actively licking Hermann's hand as he reaches to grip the metal tag hanging off the collar. Hermann squints at the words stamped into the tag, rubs his eyes, and squints harder, because it can't possibly say what he thinks it does.

But, yet. Right there, printed on the metal, clear as day: _If found, return to H. Gottlieb._  And Hermann's phone number stamped right below it.

" _Scheiße_ , " Hermann says, wide eyed. "I don't think I'm ready to be a pet owner."

The mutt barks again, lifts its shoulder in what Hermann could swear is a shrug, and spins around, trotting further inside.

~

The dog won't leave.

Hermann has tried snapping at it, waving his cane, and shooing it out the door, but the mutt easily slips past him every time he thinks he's got it corralled. The dog has now planted its rump on the bathroom rug and is shivering and making eerily human motions with its snout towards the tub faucet.

"I don't know who put that collar on you," Hermann explains (explains, to a bloody _dog_ ) as he twists the faucet and sends hot, steaming water into the tub. "But you certainly don't belong to me." Surely there's another H. Gottlieb that lives in Hong Kong? Who also happens to have his cell phone number?

The dog barks in reply and leaps into the tub, sticking its head under the faucet. It makes a gruff noise and shakes as the hot water washes away the cold rain. It's foot hits the tub stopper and pushes the object down, sealing the drain. As the tub fills up, the mutt rolls around and yelps and sighs and acts very pleased about the whole thing.

"I suppose you can stay the night," Hermann says, lowering himself to sit on the bathroom rug. "We'll see about your real owner in the morning." He frowns when the dog noses at the shampoo bottle sitting on the edge of the tub. "I don't know if that's safe for dogs," Hermann says. The dog seems to respond by opening his jaw wide, taking the bottle between his teeth and dropping it over the edge into Hermann's lap.

Clearly, Hermann is either having a fantastically odd lucid dream (no more edibles before bed, honestly, he knows better at this age) or this dog is suspiciously well trained. For the sake of his own sanity, Hermann hopes for the former. That way, when he wakes up in the morning, there will be no dog.

For now, though, Hermann takes the shampoo and pops the cap.

The dog doesn't move when Hermann moves his hand, full of shampoo, to rub into the animal's scalp. It sits quietly and calmly as Hermann stands back up for a moment to remove the shower head from the wall. The spray makes it easier to work the shampoo into the animal's fur and quickly rinse it away, bringing crusted mud and dirt down the drain with it.

The dog makes odd, satisfied noises as Hermann rubs it all over, and noses at Hermann's palm any chance it gets, licking at his fingers. "You're quite the affectionate thing, aren't you," Hermann murmurs, smiling when it barks in agreement.

Washing off the mud reveals a clearer picture of the dog's coat, which is dappled with swirls, dots and blobs of grey, white, brown and black. It's certainly no specific breed that Hermann can identify, except perhaps a little German Shepard in the size and structure of the body. Its eyes are a deep green -- is that a normal color for a dog? Hermann is far too tired to bother looking that answer up, and if it's a sign of some weird disease or mutation, then surely it won't kill the animal before the morning, so no use worrying.

Hermann shuts off the water and digs through the closet for a towel. Thankfully, the dog is well-behaved enough to stay in the tub until Hermann snaps his fingers and motions to the bath rug. With a graceful leap, it hops out and sits down, staring up at Hermann with curious eyes and a persistently open-mouthed, lolling tongue.

"You're far too delighted to be in a stranger's home," Hermann comments, draping the towel over the dog's back. The dog sneezes in his general direction, leaving a nice circle of sprayed mucus on the leg of his pajama pants. It blinks up at him and whines, almost apologetically. Hermann forces out a sigh, reminding himself that it's only an animal, it doesn't mean any harm.

Thankfully, the dog's coat is short and despite its size, Hermann only soaks through two towels drying off its fur as best he can. After it’s dried, Hermann returns to the living room to figure out a sleeping arrangement and decides that an old comforter can serve for a makeshift bed. Hermann piles it on top of the couch and pats it down, motioning to it as the dog looks on, head tilted.

"Come on, you," Hermann insists. "Up you go. You'll be plenty warm here and we'll figure out what to do with you when the sun comes up."

The dog doesn't move, but it does whine, and blink a bit more.

"Don't play dumb with me, mutt," Hermann grumbles. It's nearing three am, he's exhausted from a lack of sleep and a surprise late night visitor. He doesn't have the energy for this. "You'll be fine here for the night."

Again, no movement. Just blinking.

"Fine. Figure it out yourself." Hermann rolls his eyes and strides past the dog, heading towards his bedroom. He hopes are dashed when he hears the clacking of claws against his hardwood floor as the dog follows him. Damn it. Hermann turns in the doorway of his bedroom, frowning at the animal. "No. This is my room. Your bed is out there."

Hermann manages to shut his bedroom door without the dog scooting past, but it lets out a high-pitched whine and immediately starts scratching at the wood. He hopes it will realize soon enough that he's not letting it inside. He's already going to have to buy two new towels and probably a new bath rug. He'd rather not have to replace a door as well.

The dog keeps scratching as Hermann slides into bed. He lies there, listening for a few minutes, telling himself that its pathetic whines are easy to ignore. The scratching stops, only for a new sound to begin, a yanking and thumping combination as the door handle rattles from the creature’s half dozen unsuccessful attempts to turn it with thumbless paws. The whining is relentless, more desperate by the moment.

"Dogs aren't allowed in the bedroom!" Hermann shouts at the door impotently, as if that's going to make the creature change its mind.

Surprisingly, the sounds halt momentarily. Did it understand him? Hermann strains to hear movement.

He jerks up in bed when there's a bodily slam into the door that rattles the frame. It's followed by the most pathetic, saddest whine yet, something so desperately lonely that even Hermann's generally iron will melts at hearing it.

He sighs and slips out of bed one more time. When he opens the door, the dog slumps sideways into the room, having been lying against the door. It looks up at him with wide eyes and a needy expression.

"You may sleep on the rug next to the bed," Hermann announces. "If you try to get on the bed, I'm locking you in the bathroom overnight. Understand?" God, listen to him, he sounds utterly raving mad, talking to the dog like this.

The dog huffs air out through its jowls and stands up, wagging its tail as it trots into the room. Thankfully it chooses the wiser option and curls up on the cushioned rug, though it shoves its body up against the wooden bed slats. Hermann flops onto the bed, yawning as wide as his jaw will stretch, and kicks down the blankets to get himself comfortably bundled under them.

"Good night, mutt," Hermann mumbles blearily as he drifts off. "You're welcome, by the by."

The dog huffs again, and it almost sounds like an acknowledgement.

~

Hermann feels something wet pressed against his neck as he comes back to wakefulness. His half-asleep brain tries to parse what it could be. Bed, wetness, a warm body pressed near him… Hermann shifts and giggles low, muttering: "could put that tongue to better use somewhere else..."

His brain comes to a screeching halt when it remembers what occurred last night.

Hermann opens his eyes. He's met with the sight of his surprise visitor standing next to him on the bed, tail and tongue wagging in tandem. It looks devilishly pleased to have woken him up, barking cheerfully.

"Go away, you damned beast," Hermann gruffs, yanking the comforter up over his head. "I'm sleeping in a few more hours, getting back the ones you stole from me last night."

The dog whines impatiently. A second later, the comforter is being yanked out of Hermann's grasp by the dog's powerful teeth.

"Bloody hell!" Hermann shrieks as he's left completely uncovered. The cool of the room spills over his always chilly frame. 

The dog lets go of the cloth, but before Hermann can yank it back up, the animal plants its paws on Hermann's stomach and swipes a disgustingly wet lick up Hermann's cheek.

"Get off!" Hermann screeches, sitting up as the dog backs away, whining again. He wipes his cheek, swallowing back repulsion at the slobber he finds on his hand. Fantastic, he gave the dog a bath last night and now it's just returned the favor. Why did he think this was a good idea again?

Hermann watches as the dog hops off the bed and dashes out the door, down the hall, letting out several high-pitched yaps. It runs back a moment later, standing in the doorway and letting out another bark. Then it turns tail and runs away again, before returning just as before. It repeats the motion several times, even after Hermann's gotten the hint.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Hermann says, stretching his arms and getting up.

He pulls a used towel out of the clothing hamper next to his bed to wipe his cheek and hand, a temporary solution for a highly unhygienic situation. Hermann's never been comfortable with the usual trappings of pet ownership -- especially their 'kisses' as his missing lab partner would refer to it -- which is why the dog's collar is so confusing. No one who knows Hermann would actively think of getting him a pet, but that's the only logical reasoning behind a dog with his name and number on its tag showing up at his apartment.

The dog is clearly intelligent and seems to think itself quite at home in Hermann's space, which is going to be a problem, if he's to figure out how to get rid of it eventually.

When he gets to the living room, Hermann sees the dog scratching at the front door, and he knows well enough about pets to know what that means. He's tempted to just let the animal run out the door and hope it doesn't come back, but with Newt missing and this animal tagged as Hermann's own showing up out of the blue during Newt's disappearance... it just feels more than a coincidence. Maybe the creature is tied to why Newt is gone. So, best hold onto it for the time being.

He grips the door handle, only to realize a pressing problem: mainly, his lack of a lead for the animal.

_Wait, there is one option... I never thought I'd be using it for its intended purpose though._  Hermann meets the dog's eyes, and it whines and butts its nose against his leg. Hermann sighs. _Well, it's not like the dog will care where it come from or what it's for._

So, he goes back to the bedroom and fishes around in a box buried deep in his closet, filled with rarely used objects (the fact of this being a somewhat depressing thought, but not one to consider right now).

The dog is still waiting by the front door when he returns, and Hermann holds the soft length of a leather leash out slowly so the creature can sniff it.

"You know what this is?" Hermann asks, slightly mortified that the dog is sniffing so intensely, like he's picking up traces of the... _activities_... it was involved with. Canines do have fantastic scenting abilities, though. Perhaps there's some hound mixed into its pedigree.

The dog jerks its head up sharply after it's apparently satisfied with the inspection of the leash and barks, tilting its head. Thankfully, it sits still as Hermann clips the end to the ring the tag hangs from, though it does take the opportunity to lick at his fingers again with their being in perfect proximity for the attention.

Hermann grabs his keys and leads the animal outside. His apartment is in a quieter section of the city, with some nice greenery in the courtyard, and the dog obediently trots next to Hermann as he descends the steps, one hand wrapped around his cane, and the other around the leash. It seems to understand that he takes a little longer to get places and doesn't yank on the lead. That's reassuring, since Hermann isn't looking to take a tumble down the stairs. The last time he ended up in the hospital because of a bad fall, Newt spent the next month being uncomfortably vigilant about every damned step Hermann took. It was embarrassing to be so coddled by the man, and they'd had their worst fight in years during it.

_It isn't like he's here to fight with you now_ , Hermann thinks, then immediately hates himself for thinking. He’d take hours of petty arguing at this point, just to know the other man is safe. Where could Newt have gone?

The courtyard is mostly empty, save for Biyu, the graduate student who lives down the walkway from him. She's got a terrible smoking habit, and Hermann often sees her in the courtyard when he leaves for the Shatterdome or returns from it, destroying her lungs no matter the temperature or precipitation. She's quite nice, though, and seeing how many people in Hong Kong seem to smoke, he's fairly used to being around the smoke.

"Doctor Gottlieb," Biyu calls, waving to him. "You got a dog?"

"Not really," Hermann says, and gives her a quick rundown of the events leading up to attaining a furry companion. As he does, the dog finds a bush to duck behind to do its business. Hermann realizes he probably should've brought a plastic bag, but the complex management will have to excuse him, since cleaning up dog shit wasn't the plan this morning. 

"So, now there are two mysteries," Biyu says. "Where is your partner, and where did this dog come from?"

Oh, right. She knows about Newt’s disappearance, because he had asked her yesterday to keep an eye out for his partner. Even showed her a picture off his phone: A New Year's celebration, bottles of booze in the foreground, paper lanterns hanging in the background, and Newt and Hermann squeezed between, Newt grinning with a carefree, silly air, and Hermann too enchanted by it to keep from smiling. Biyu had raised an eyebrow at the request, but really, all he'd asked was that if Newt happened by to see him, that she immediately call Hermann to let him know. And then keep Newt there until Hermann could get home.

"I suppose," Hermann replies. "He didn't stop by, did he? Newton?" Biyu shakes her head as the dog comes zipping out from behind the bush, barking madly. Hermann startles as the dog pushes off its front legs, hopping up and down in front of him, continuing to bark excitedly. "What- what in Turing's name has gotten into you?"

"Maybe he knows where Doctor Geiszler is," Biyo quips, smirking, the cigarette pursed between her teeth bouncing up and down.

Hermann rolls his eyes, watching the dog spin around and whine, clearly distressed about something. "More likely it's remembered another bodily function it needs to satisfy. I've no idea the last time it ate something."

"What are you going to name him?" Biyu asks. "You know he's a he, right? You keep calling him 'it.'"

"Yes, of course I know," Hermann says. "And I'm not naming it- I'm not naming _him_  anything. He's not mine."

"He's got your name on his collar. Literally. I think that means you own him."

"Not by choice. Besides, I'm not keeping him long enough to name. I'm going to see if he's got any connection to Newton- calm down, you!" Hermann snaps when the dog lets out a howl and jumps again. "I'll get you some food in a moment... ah, anyway, like I was saying. once my lab partner has returned, this dog will be finding a new owner. I'm sure Newton's got no end of people he knows who would be willing to take the mutt."

"Hmmm..." Biyu squats down, patting the dog on the head. It seems pleased with the attention, nuzzling her hand and panting. "Well, since you're searching for a man named Newton, and you think this dog is connected to him somehow, you should name it Isaac."

"I said I wasn't-" Hermann begins, only to be interrupted by another bark and the dog's tail snapping whipfire back and forth.

"See?" Biyu says. "He agrees. So, Isaac, can you help Doctor Gottlieb find your namesake?"

The dog whines and twists to look back at Hermann, hitting him with another view of those oddly compelling green eyes.

Hermann sighs again. "Fine. Isaac it is. Come on then. We've got things to do. See you later," he says, giving Biyu a wave.

The newly named Isaac springs up and bounds after him with a level of energy and eagerness so familiar it makes Hermann's heart ache.

But no time for feeling sorry for himself. They've got a missing xenobiologist to track down.

~

Isaac is clearly not a purebred dog, so Hermann has the feeling he didn't come from any sort of pet shop, since mutts aren't usually pricey animals, no matter how friendly or -- frankly -- beautiful of a creature they may be. So, while Isaac is scarfing down the leftover ground beef Hermann found in the fridge from making tacos three days previous, Hermann searches for animal shelters on his phone. He finds three of them within a reasonable walking distance that are also a walkable distance from both the Shatterdome and Newt's apartment. He'll start with a more controlled search radius, and if nothing turns up, he'll expand outwards.

Hermann showers and throws on what Newt has referred to as one of his 'casual tenured professor' sweaters and one of the two pairs of jeans that he owns. No point in owning more when you spend most of your time locked in a work lab and are expected to look professional. At least, Hermann believes he should remain professional, even as the world goes to hell.

After slipping on his good walking shoes, Hermann finds Isaac with his front paws up on the coffee table in the living room, nosing at the screen of Hermann's phone. He's managed to turn on the lock screen, but the patterned code outwits him, as the long swipes of dog drool and mucus on the glass attests to.

"Must you cover everything I own in your bodily fluids?" Hermann asks rhetorically.

He snatches up the phone and goes to the kitchen, the dog tracing his heels as he spends the next ten minutes sanitizing his phone. Honestly, this is why he prefers cats. At least they leave their messes in a proffered box for easy cleanup.

Isaac sits patiently next to Hermann the whole time, wagging his tail and staring at Hermann so eagerly, it's a bit disconcerting.

They finally make it out the door twenty minutes later, Hermann armed with three plastic bags, a few water bottles, more ground beef in a storage container, and a packet of sanitizing wipes, all inside a small backpack. The weather is chilly but the wind is low, and Hermann is perfectly cozy in his brown blazer, while Isaac seems completely unbothered by the temperature.

The dog happily trots next to him, no tugging on the leash or running ahead after small animals. They pass other dogs who lunge to sniff at Isaac, but instead of eagerly returning their attention, the dog shys away from them, twisting to hide on the other side of Hermann's legs as they pass. Hermann's never seen a dog act like this, but perhaps he had some bad run ins with less than friendly mutts in the past.

The first shelter is only a ten-minute walk, even with Hermann's comparatively slow pace. He took some extra paracetamol for the journey today, because he doesn't need hip strain being the thing that keeps him from lasting long enough to find Newt.

Isaac seems fine until they make their approach towards the building, when he begins to whine and comes to a halt, eyes wide as he stares, unblinking, up at the sign on the front: _Animal Shelter_ , written in both Mandarin and English. Hermann knows better than to think the dog is reading the sign... that's impossible. Even the most intelligent breeds aren't capable of parsing human language. It's the fact that he _looks_  like he's reading that makes it eerie.

Whatever reason for the distress, Hermann needs to figure it out, because Isaac sits down on the sidewalk, resisting against the short tugs Hermann gives on the leash.

"Do you know this place?" Hermann asks aloud. This seems like a good sign -- if the dog came from this shelter, he might be scared to return to it. Slowly, Hermann reaches a hand out to stroke comfortingly across the dog's scalp. "It's alright. You're not going back there permanently."

For today, at least. Who knows what will happen if he can't find someone else to take this creature?

Isaac whimpers and lays down, scared as anything. Even if he's not a dog person, Hermann can't help feeling sympathy for the poor, pathetic thing. But this must be done; it's the only lead he has on where Newt has gone. Besides, this dog certainly needs to learn who is in charge if they're going to work together for the time being.

Hermann strokes the pup's head a while longer, smoothing his hand down Isaac's back, rubbing intensely. He tries to remember how he's seen Newt -- so comfortable with animals in a way Hermann never will be -- interact with other people's pets. Newt's never had trouble connecting with dogs, and he's always talked about getting a dog after the war -- of course, they're far too busy now, and it wouldn't be fair to the animal to be neglected for Newt's work. Hermann and Newt share that mindset; relationships come second to the work, Except, well, their relationship is so bound up in the work that it would be impossible to separate it.

"Please," Hermann mutters, knuckles pushing into the crook of Isaac's back as he kneads the animal's form. "I need your help to find my partner. I'll buy you some sort of wonderful treat after we're done, but I can't do that if you're going to lie here all day." He's tempted to abandon the dog and make for the shelter, both to see if the animal will follow, and because he doesn't need the dog to simply ask if a man named Newton Geiszler has stopped by.

Thankfully, when Hermann tugs on the leash again, the dog rises to its feet -- still whining, still tense, but seemingly willing to trust. It's the first bit of luck Hermann's had, and he'll take it.

The woman running the shelter is perfectly pleasant. Hermann freely explains the ludicrousness of his circumstance, but despite her best efforts, they're unable to locate any record of an animal that looks like Isaac. No Newton Geiszler on the roster of newly adoptive 'pet parents' -- as those who adopt animals from the shelter are called -- either.

"We can certainly take him off your hands if you're unable to care for him," she says at the end, motioning towards Isaac. "He's friendly enough that he should be adopted out quickly."

Hermann frowns. "And if he's not...?"

He feels stupid the second the question leaves his mouth. He doesn't know why he bothers asking it, because he knows this isn't a no-kill shelter, and the thought of abandoning the animal to that fate, even if there's a low risk... well, he's not a bloody monster.

Isaac must sense that the conversation's mood has taken a downward tone, because he shifts closer to Hermann, pressing up against his legs and whimpering softly.

"No thank you," Hermann replies, gripping the leash a little tighter. "I'll figure something out."

The second shelter is far worse: overcrowded, smelly, and wildly noisy with the sound of howling dogs and hissing cats. Hermann sticks near the door, even though the older man running the place is very friendly and seemingly just dealing with a lack of funding and too little space in a busier part of the city. Isaac doesn't move more than two feet away from Hermann the whole time. Again, there's no record of a dog that looks like this mystery mutt, and no Newton listed in the files.

Once Hermann has verified that this isn't the place to look, he hustles out the door with as polite a goodbye as possible. Isaac hasn't stopped shaking and whining since they went inside, and Hermann quickly gets them out of sight of the building.

The dog is so distressed that Hermann finds a stoop to sit on and lets Isaac sit between his legs, head resting on Hermann's knee as he soothes it with gentle petting and feeds it some of the ground beef he's brought along. The food seems to have a strong effect, or the dog's memory is extremely short-term, because in a matter of minutes Isaac is back to wagging his tail and licking Hermann's hand. 

"You were very brave," Hermann murmurs. "Just one more, alright? If this is the wrong one, I won't make you go to another."

Isaac snorts against Hermann's fingers and twists around, tugging on the leash. Apparently, Hermann isn't being allowed more than a five-minute break. Well, it is nearly noon, and Hermann should be getting a move on so they can return to the apartment before the paracetamol wears off.

Hermann's luck has them leaving the third shelter with the same amount of answers they got at the first two: absolutely none. Newt didn't get Isaac at any of these shelters. There will be others to search, but the dog showed distress again during the third visit, so Hermann won't be bringing him along anymore. He'll just take some pictures of Isaac and that will have to do next time. Which means he'll likely be leaving the dog alone in his apartment. Which will require some planning. Perhaps a crate, or setting up the bathroom as a den for the creature?

Blast, this is only getting worse. If Isaac is going to be staying with him longer than a day, Hermann is going to have to _buy_  things, like dog food, and a bowl, and perhaps a dog bed, and some actual shampoo -- the flea-killing kind, which reminds him, he should wash all his linens and wipe down his couch when he gets home...

He's so lost in thought that he almost goes face-forward onto the street when Isaac suddenly jerks the leash at a ninety-degree angle and barks, pulling Hermann towards another street.

"What's wrong?" Hermann asks, frowning as the dog eagerly spins in a circle and yanks Hermann in the direction he wants to go. "What is it? Did you see a squirrel?" More likely a rat in this section of the city, where greenery is minimal.

Of course, the dog can't answer, can only tug on the leash insistently and whine.

Hermann sighs. Oh, what the hell. He's run out of other options today. Maybe the dog has... scented Newt? Or knows something Hermann doesn't. Or maybe it is a bloody squirrel. Whatever the case, he's got little to lose by giving Isaac the benefit of the doubt and following him.

Isaac leads Hermann down two streets, turning right, then left at the next block, then another right. It appears he's made this journey before. Hermann hasn't been to this section of the city, closer to the harbor-front, where people are less and less willing to live nowadays. The city itself has seen a massive emigration since the start of the Kaiju attacks, and plenty of these buildings are dilapidated, falling apart, perfect havens for the crime lords and gangs that have sprung up over the last few years.

The deeper into the maze of high rises they move, the more uncertain Hermann gets, and he's about to stop their forward march when they round the corner and Hermann sees the high rise in front of them is slightly better kept. Isaac seems intent on heading towards that one.

When they enter the lobby, there's a wall of mailboxes on the left side, and a wall of call buttons on the right. Isaac pulls Herman to the buttons and hops up on his hind legs, nosing the button for 15C. He can't seem to get the leverage to press it, so Hermann nudges him aside and presses it for him. Can he really be a simple street dog, if someone's taught him to press a very specific apartment call button?

The screen slotted into the wall turns on, and Hermann sees an image of himself looking back- wait, no. His hair is different, perhaps his face as well, though it's hard to tell with how grainy the footage is.

"Can I help you?" the man asks. His accent is British, rather posh, but flattened with a touch of acquired Hong Kong affect.

"Er, yes. Sorry to bother," Hermann replies, motioning to Isaac, who is staring up at the screen, hopping up and down. "This is going to sound completely ridiculous, but do you know this dog? He led me here and pressed your apartment button."

The man stares at him for a moment, then his lips quirk into a smile. "Are you Doctor Gottlieb?"

Hermann blanches, sputtering. "I- yes, but how... how did you-"

"Newton's told me a bit about you," the man explains. "Would you like to come up?"

"You know Newton?" Hermann asks. "Have you seen him? Do you know where he is? Is he with you?"

The man shakes his head. "He isn't with me at the moment, but I think it would be helpful to you if you came up for a chat. And some tea, of course."

"Yes, of course," Hermann nods. Finally, some sort of connection to Newt! He glances down at Isaac, who is wagging his tail and watching Hermann expectantly. "Er, is it alright if the dog comes?"

"Oh, I insist the dog comes," the man replies. "He's helped you find me, it's only fair."

There's something unsettling about the way Isaac whines at the screen, but Hermann won't realize why until far, far later.

~

The man does look an awful lot like himself, other than the slicked back hair tied up behind his head. He says his name is Edmund, and he wears an easygoing smile and a red T-shirt with the Union Jack on it, projecting his Britishness in a way that Hermann could only hope to ape as a British-culture-obsessed youth. His apartment is cozy but not tiny; it’s made from two older apartments remodeled together after demand to live in the area plummeted and larger space was required to entice renters.

Edmund motions to his cushy brown couch when Hermann steps inside. "Please have a seat. I'll make a cuppa."

Hermann takes in the mishmash of unmatched furniture, the fruit bowl filled with apples on top of the scuffed coffee table, and the painting of the thoroughbred galloping through a field on the wall across from him as he seats himself on the middle cushion of the couch. Isaac, having spent the whole of the day pinned to Hermann's side, surprises him by hopping up into the armchair perpendicular to the couch and sitting down. He hasn't seemed this comfortable since they left the safety of Hermann's apartment, which helps to put Hermann at ease while sitting in the home of a complete stranger who definitely shares a very recent common ancestor with him.

Edmund motions to Isaac when he comes out with a steaming cup delicately carried with both palms. "He took the chair, did he?"

"Er, yes. Sorry, he sort of does what he wants," Hermann explains, taking the proffered cup from the other man. It's already suspiciously perfect in its cream and sugar ratio, which hints that Newt knows this man well enough that he's discussed his lab partner's tea preferences with Edmund. That, or the man is very perceptive.

"It's not a problem," Edmund says, taking the other armchair that faces across from Isaac's. "It's his favorite."

Hermann frowns. "Pardon, you're saying you know this animal?"

Edmund smiles that knowing smile and nods, folding his hands primly in his lap. "He comes around occasionally. Always looking for someone to take care of him. It's a shame really, he belongs to someone, but the chap doesn't even realize it."

Alright. That answers one question and opens up about a thousand others.

"Then might you know why he's wearing that tag?" Hermann asks, motioning with one hand and lifting the tea cup with the other to take a sip. "The only theory I've been able to come up with is that someone I know wanted to give him to me as a gift, but if you're saying he belongs to someone already..."

Don't mistake my meaning, Doctor Gottlieb," Edmund says, face drawn in a disconcerting pleasantness. "He's yours to keep, if you want him. The question is, whether you do."

Oh, Hermann is starting to dislike this man. Too casual by a mile, talking in mysteries. A kind face, but too clever for anyone's good.

"Does he have anything to do with Newton?" Hermann asks, searching for more fruitful ground. "You said you know him. When was the last time you saw him?"

Edmund shrugs. "It's been about a week. We only meet about once a month." He says nothing after this, simply sitting with his hands folded, quiet, patient. No trace of discomfort and tension in his brow. Hermann gets the feeling he needs to figure out the right questions in order to get any good answers.

"So... how do you know him?" Hermann asks carefully. He sets the teacup down on a coaster, noting that Isaac's head tilts to the side, and he whimpers softly.

"He's a client," Edmund says.

That word, client, has far too many meanings for Hermann to discern an exact notion. "What sort of client?" he asks, frowning.

Edmund lets out a chuckle, looking down at his hands. "You know, normally, I'm discreet when this question is asked," Edmund explains. "What people get up to on their own time is their own business, don't you think? But since both of you are here, and considering the reason for this situation, I feel it almost a duty to make you aware."

"Aware of... what?" Hermann swallows. His fists have gone clammy, and his stomach is twisted in a knot of anxiety. Something isn't adding up.

Edmund stands up and motions to him, walking towards the hallway. "Come on. Better to show you to make a point."

He turns to wait for Hermann, but when Hermann gets up to follow, he finds his path blocked by Isaac, who leaps out of the chair and plants himself between the two men, back arched, teeth bared, growling at Edmund.

Well, if Hermann misses a clue today, it won't be _that_  one. He slides his hand down the handle of his cane to grip it across the neck, taking his weight off the wood and putting it onto his good leg.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Hermann says, eyes darting around the room to look for anything dangerous that Edmund might snatch up within reach. "You see, I think Isaac has grown fairly protective of me, and they do say animals have a sixth sense. No, I think I'll stay right here."

Really, he should make for the door- but wait. A horrifying thought occurs to him. What if Newt is here? What if Edmund is lying? What if he's being _held_ in this apartment? Suddenly, Hermann's mad delusion of a kidnapping scenario isn't so ludicrous.

Edmund stares at him for a long, frightening moment, before he lets out a loud snort and presses a hand over his mouth, snickering.

"You've named him Isaac? Oh, that's just, that's perfect. And you, calm down," Edmund says, pointedly looking at the dog when it lets out another growl. "He needs to see. Otherwise, nothing will change."

Isaac huffs and looks back at Hermann, meeting his gaze that seems far too sentient for a canine. How the bloody hell does this dog seem to know more about what's going on than Hermann does? Even more shocking is when Isaac's defensive demeanor disappears and he dips his head, whining and trotting towards Edmund. The man leans down and pats Isaac patiently on the head, smiling.

"It'll be alright," Edmund says, glancing back up at Hermann, who must look distressed at the dog's seeming betrayal. "I promise, I've one room to show you, that's all. I've no ill intent towards you, sir. Truthfully, I'm hoping to help."

"You first, then," Hermann says, motioning to the hallway. "I'll follow. Keep the dog between us."

Edmund shrugs. "If that makes you feel more comfortable, of course."

Hermann trails Edmund, still wary but hoping Isaac's return to calm is a good sign. There are two open doors, a bedroom on the left and a bathroom on the right. There is also one closed door at the end of the hall. Edmund heads towards this one, opening the door and flicking on the light.

"Please don't touch anything," Edmund says as he passes through the doorway, Hermann following up close behind. "I've only just finished cleaning from the last client."

Now, Hermann is no blushing virgin. He's a man in his early thirties whose sexual experience is varied and quite robust. But even he can't help but gape as he enters the room and discovers he's walked into some sort of high quality, extremely well-equipped sex dungeon. And when he means high-quality, he isn't talking about something out of one of those rubbish erotic movies that was so popular when he was in his twenties. No, this is... _hardcore_ , as Newt would put it.

There are chains and whips all over the bloody place, there’s a bed with steel bars around the sides, elevated off the ground on more steel bars that form a cage beneath the structure, there’s a large wooden X drilled into one wall with straps across the breadth and cuffs on the ends, there are leather harnesses hanging from hooks near the door, there’s a pommel horse with locking cuffs on either side of each leg, and there are shelves of silicone toys, leather collars, and other things that Hermann doesn't have any context for, only that they must make someone who comes here very happy.

"Bloody _Christ_ ," Hermann says, aroused and terrified in tandem. "You're a damned dominatrix?"

"Professional dominant is the correct term," Edmund explains. He leans against one steel bar of the bed, folding his arms and shrugging. "Some people like being ordered around, and I find I'm very good at being obeyed."

Hermann swallows, looking down to Isaac. The dog has sat next to him, leaning into his leg, stretched out with his chin pressed into Hermann's outer thigh. He looks up at Hermann, blinking slowly, and Hermann swears he's trying to gauge Hermann's reaction to the scene. Which is ridiculous, but Hermann has dealt with a lot of ridiculous things in the last twelve hours.

"So... So, Newton was coming here to..." Hermann swallows, going red-faced at the thought, and suddenly he needs to get out of this room, because now he's imagining Newt bound over the pommel horse, or cuffed to the wooden X, or locked under the bed. Naked, writhing and squirming and begging and-

Oh, Hermann _cannot_  be imagining things like this. Things would go very bad for him, indeed, if he allowed himself to imagine Newt in those ways.

Hermann hurries from the room, back out into the living room. He tugs his backpack back over his shoulders as Edmund arrives in the room, watching him curiously.

"Are you alright?" Edmund asks, voice far too cheerful for what he's just revealed. "That sort of thing, it doesn't disgust you, does it? Bollocks, that'd be unfortunate."

"It's not- people can do whatever they want," Hermann says, searching the room, though he doesn't know what for, until he realizes that Isaac isn't there with them. "Where did the dog go? Isaac, where are you?"

He's answered with a low whimper as Isaac slowly comes out of the hallway. The dog's head is down, shoulders slumped. He looks utterly miserable. Hermann doesn't understand it, but he knows they need to leave. He needs to go home. He needs to think.

"Thank you for the tea," Hermann says, picking up Isaac's leash and clipping it onto the dog's collar. "Please, if you see Newton, tell him I'm looking for him."

"You don't want to stay? Search my home from top to bottom, call the authorities, accuse me of holding Newton hostage?" Edmund asks.

Hermann sets him with a level look. "Are you doing that?"

Edmund smiles. "No. I only hold him hostage when he consents to it." He chuckles when Hermann blushes furiously. "I apologize. A little industry humor. Don't worry yourself, Doctor Gottlieb. I have a feeling you'll find Newton soon enough. He might be closer than you think."

"Here's hoping," Hermann mutters. "He's got some explaining to do."

~

The sun is setting when Hermann and Isaac finally make it back to the apartment. A quick stop to Biyu to ask if she's seen Newt come by -- and of course, the answer is no -- is all Hermann can manage with the way his hip is aching.

He goes to find some more paracetamol when he gets through the door, shutting it and dropping Isaac's leash to let him do as he pleases. The dog was quiet and melancholic on the way back, which, fine. Clearly something is bothering it, but right now, Hermann has other things to think about.

All the walking has left Hermann worn out, so he draws a bath -- after scrubbing the tub down because its last user left piles of fur clogging the drain -- and settles into the hot water, letting it soak away his aches and pains.

Hermann rests his head against the wall of the tub and closes his eyes, thinking. Newt is still missing. Today was fruitful in revealing information to Hermann about his lab partner, but not in a way Hermann could've ever imagined.

_Well, it's better than a drug habit_ , Hermann thinks. _Certainly, must be good exercise._

The image of Newt over that pommel horse flashes back into his mind, and Hermann squirms in the bath water, feeling himself grow hot. There's a twitching, pooling warmth in his lower half, and Hermann groans and pushes his palms into his eyes, trying to think of anything else, which, of course, doesn't work, since the less one wants to think of something, the more one is sure to imagine it.

A creaking noise draws Hermann's attention, and he opens his eyes to see that the bathroom door is cracked slightly. One wide, green eye peers through the gap, staring at him, but making no further movement to come inside.

Hermann snaps his fingers. "Come here, you," he says, frowning when the dog pulls back, whimpering. "Isaac, you want to be near me, right? It's alright, you can sit next to the tub and I'll explain how much of an utter moron my lab partner is. Disappearing without a trace, leaving you as my only clue, making me walk all over the bloody city on a wild goose chase."

Isaac chooses to ignore him again, slinking away down the hall. Hermann sighs and thunks his head back against the wall.

By the time he gets out of the bath, he's far less achy, but far more worried. He throws on an old T-shirt -- emblazoned with a spinning TARDIS he got at a Doctor Who convention in 2007 -- and shuffles into the living room.

Isaac is sprawled out on the floor rug, apparently having the good sense to not try and use Hermann's couch. Except Hermann says bugger off to good sense and drops onto the couch, lying his cane on the coffee table and leaning down to nudge the dog to sit up. Hermann guides Isaac's head to rest in his lap, petting him gently. The dog's tail begins to wag. Hermann smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," Hermann says, stroking the dog's scalp slowly. "I'm just worried, you see. This isn't like Newton. For all he's scatterbrained, he's never left me in the lurch this long. A few days at most, and only when he's furious with me. But we were getting along just fine. So, I don't understand what's happened."

Isaac whimpers and noses at the hand petting him, licking Hermann's fingers. Hermann swallows and rubs his eyes with his other hand, taking a harsh breath.

He's been in denial for days now, but he can't pretend any more. Something... Something's _happened_  to Newt. Hermann can feel it. He doesn't think Newt meant to leave, and that means something is keeping him away. And if Hermann can't figure out what that is, where he is, what use is he?

"I'm scared," Hermann admits, hands gripping around Isaac's collar. "What if he's hurt? What if he's alone and in danger and he doesn't have anyone to help him? He's such a fool sometimes. He's too trusting, he's too easygoing. Someone could take advantage of that. I've told him over and over to be careful, but does he listen to me? Of course not."

Hermann's breath is speeding up, his eyes are beginning to water. Isaac seems perceptive to this, because he pushes up off his front paws and rests them across Hermann's lap, straining to get further into Hermann's space. Hermann welcomes this, catching the dog up under the legs and heaving him into his lap. He wraps his arms around the dog's body and presses his face into the animals' back, trying to catch his breath.

The warmth and presence of the creature is a small comfort. Hermann appreciates the animal's effort, but he is still profoundly terrified, because what if the worst has happened? What if Newt isn't ever coming back?

"I need him to be okay," Hermann says in a quiet voice. "Because if he isn't, I won't be."

Isaac whimpers and twists his head, licking the side of Hermann's ear and hair, because Hermann is holding onto him so tightly, he can't reach anything else.

They stay like that for a few minutes, Hermann holding to the dog like a lifeline, trying not to let his fear so overwhelm him that he sinks into a despair. That won't help bring Newt back. Hermann can't be made useless now. He's got to keep going and figure out how to bring Newt home.

"You're a good boy," Hermann murmurs when he relaxes his grip on Isaac and sits back up. Isaac licks a stripe up the side of Hermann's face and lets out a bark, tail wagging furiously. Hermann finds that he isn't disgusted, finds that he laughs at the affection the animal shows him. Isaac has refused his rejection at each step, working his way past Hermann's defenses. Just like someone else Hermann knows. Some people might be insulted at that comparison, but Newt would love it.

The tag on Isaac's collar catches the light, fluttering on the ring as Isaac thumps his tail on Hermann's leg. Hermann reaches out to palm it, reading the stamped letters again: _If found, please return to H. Gottlieb._  That and his phone number on the front, and nothing on the back.

The collar is loose enough to hook two fingers underneath each side, and Hermann feels along the length of the fabric, trying to see if there's anything hidden underneath. Nothing he can sense on first pass. Perhaps he needs a closer examination. He presses his thumbs and forefingers against the clasp and clicks it open.

Several things happen almost instantaneously. Firstly, the creature in his lap grows far heavier, and far larger, and far less canine. Human arms and legs covered in colorful tattoos appear where paws and fur had been only a moment before. The sudden change in size and weight means that balance is lost, and the creature goes tumbling to the floor, the collar clattering along with it. The shock of it makes Hermann instinctually throw himself back, grabbing onto the couch for support, gasping when he recognizes the tangle of limbs sprawled across the floor.

Newt stares wide-eyed back at Hermann, naked as Hermann had imagined him over that pommel horse, except he's _real_  this time, flesh and blood and far more dynamic than Hermann's mind could conjure up. 

"N-Newton?!" Hermann yelps, amazement flooding through his mind. "Good god, but- but _how_?"

"Oh shit, oh _shit_ ," Newt says, quickly crossing his legs and twisting his lower half away from Hermann, as if it isn't already too late, as if Hermann's hasn't _seen_. "Fuck, that fucking  _asshole_ , I'm gonna fucking kill him!"

"You're here, you're- you're  _alive_ ," Hermann croaks out, shooting his arms out and grabbing Newt by the shoulders. Whatever sense of propriety he has about touching a nude Newt is lost in the deep, shocked relief of being able to hug him tightly, smell his familiar musk -- coffee, cinnamon and a perpetual hint of Kaiju viscera -- and sense his presence.

"You thought I was dead?" Newt asks, squirming in Hermann's grip. "Honestly, that might be preferable to this."

"Don't you dare even joke about that, you damned scoundrel," Hermann chides. "Do you realize how worried you had me?"

"I was just starting to," Newt says, finally squirming enough so that Hermann lets him pull back. "Can I, uh, borrow something to wear? Or at least a blanket. It's kind of cold without the fur."

"What- oh, oh, of course," Hermann says. It's an easy fix, because there's a blanket draped over the back of the couch. He tugs Newt to sit on the cushion beside him -- pointedly keeping his gaze a respectful height above any private areas -- and drapes the blanket over Newt's lap. "Is that alright?"

"Mmmm," Newt replies, nodding. "Thanks."

"Newton, what happened to you?" Hermann asks. "What I just saw defies every law of the physical universe ever put to paper. Time travel? Teleportation? Did we decide to try LSD and I've been hallucinating this whole thing?" he jokes. That seems like the most plausible explanation, honestly, even though he's never touched an illegal substance in his life (edibles don’t count. Edibles are legal in Hong Kong now).

Newt shakes his head, smile crooked in a way that signals he's uneasy about where the conversation is headed. "Yeah, uh, I wish all those were true. The only thing I can say is that one minute I was human, and the next I... wasn't, so much." He shrugs. "That asshole _turned me into a dog_ , dude."

"Who- Edmund? Your, ah... professional?" Hermann looks pointedly anywhere but Newt's face when he asks this. Fantastic, now they're competing for who can be more embarrassed about the whole situation.

"Yeah," Newt says, sounding frustrated. "I asked him for help with something, and this is how he decided to help, I guess."

"How does turning you into a dog help anything?" Hermann asks.

Newt says nothing, quiet for so long that Hermann finally looks at him again. He's fidgeting, playing with the loose ends of the blanket. His upper teeth are biting hard into his lower lip, like he needs to keep something in.

"Newton?" Hermann asks, very carefully, lest he spook the other man. "What did you require help with?"

"Doesn't matter," Newt mutters, shrugging. "Just forget about it."

"I'm just supposed to forget about your being transmogrified into _another species_?" Hermann snorts. "Unlikely. I want an explanation, Newton."

"Who says you get one?" Newt snarks back. He curls further into himself on the couch, pulling the blanket up to wrap around his chest. “It's none of your business. Thanks for your help. We're good."

Hermann feels liable to scream. "No," he snaps, "you don't get to dismiss me after the hell I just went through trying to find you!"

"You didn't have to!" Newt snaps back. 

"Of course, I did!" Hermann yelps. "I bloody care about you, you damned ingrate!"

"Well I fucking love you, you asshole!" Newt yells. "So, I guess I win!"

Dead silence follows this for the next 30 seconds.

Newt slowly turns the color of the blanket he's wrapped in, looking at his lap. Hermann is frozen, unable to process what he's just heard because Newt, he- he just- came out and said  _that_.

And suddenly it's not so hard to figure out what Newt needed help with.

"Newton..." Hermann bites his lip, then slowly closes a hand around Newt's knee. "What did you ask Edmund to do?"

Newt lets out a long-suffering sigh and drops his face into his hands. "He- he's good at getting people to admit what they want, okay? And I just wanted help learning how to do that. He said he knew what I wanted and a way to prove it to myself. Apparently, that meant turning me into your actual freaking pet." He glances up over his palms, expression miserable.

"And is... is that what you want?" Hermann asks. He feels like he hasn't taken a breath in minutes, too shocked by everything that's occurred, what's been revealed. Newt loves him? Impossible. Improbable. Unacceptable. Why would he waste that on someone like Hermann? Oh, Hermann knows there are some self-doubts he'll never escape, and one of them is the thought that anyone he cares for would ever return the same level of affection. Dogs give their love freely. Humans give their love conditionally. What has Hermann ever done to earn Newt's love?

"I liked it, okay?" Newt admits. "Yeah, I liked that you took care of me. I liked making you happy. I even liked listening to you, following your directions. Jesus, you know how I usually hate that," he says, laughing harshly. "But it was different. I was alone out there for days and all I knew was that I had to figure out how to find you and trust you to fix things when I did. And you did, y'know? I let you take control and you figured it all out. You didn't let me down."

"Never," Hermann says, leaning in closer. He slides his hand up Newt's knee, finding Newt's palm and clasping it. "Well, I suppose I can't say never. We've had our moments. But I've tried very hard to live up to a lot of people's expectations, and nowadays you're one of the few whose expectations I strive to exceed."

Newt snickers, and the tension in his shoulders dissipates, and that's when Hermann kisses him. Just leans over, cupping Newt's cheek and planting one firmly on his lips.

Because if he's honest with himself, Newt's always been the braver of the two. So, now that Newt has admitted how he feels, Hermann can admit it too.

"Herms," Newt mumbles when the kiss ends. "You don't actually own a dog."

"No, unless you plan on turning back into one," Hermann jokes.

Newt smiles. "So, then, why do you own a leash?"

Hermann is silent for a moment. Ah. That. Well, he supposes that if Newt's little side-hobby secret is out in the open, he should be honest about his own.

Hermann smiles back slyly. "I'll admit, I've been more adventurous in my past relationships than you might think from looking at me. So, I wonder. Would you like to be my pet, Newt?" Hermann asks. "Not all the time, and certainly not as you just were, but sometimes, and in other ways?" He slides his thumb down the curve of Newt's jaw, and if a motion could be described as _possessive_ , it would be that one. "Is that what you want? I want you to have what you want, darling."

Newt's eyes are suddenly very round and deep and hungry. "Y-yeah," he stutters. "Fuck. Yes. _Please_."

"Alright." Hermann draws back, tapping his fore and middle finger against the center of Newt's chest. "Stay here a moment. Relax yourself. You're safe now. You're _mine_  now."

"Yeah," Newt says, smile laced with ease as Hermann stands up. "Okay. Whatever you say, Herms."

Hermann feels lit up with eager adrenaline as he makes for the bedroom, and he has to force himself to slow down, to think. He needs to do this right. Newt's just been through something highly traumatic and they're both reevaluating their place in each other's lives at this very moment. Hermann needs to make sure Newt feels comfortable moving forward, and that he truly wants everything Hermann is offering.

So, something simple to start.

Newt's eyes are closed, and his head is tipped back against the couch when Hermann returns.

"Here," Hermann says, holding out a pair of checkered blue boxers. "You left these here ages ago."

Newt frowns, taking them. "We're, uh, we're not- I kinda thought we were gonna...?"

"Oh, yes. We will, if that's what you want," Hermann says, smiling. "But let's meet on equal ground for a moment before we get down to that, yes? It might be a bit more comfortable discussing this if you don't feel as, ah, _vulnerably naked_."

Newt seems to get the point, wiggling the boxers up onto his hips and dragging the blanket that was covering his lap up over his shoulders. Hermann sits down beside him, drawing his legs up and twisting to face Newt head on. He places two items between them: a collar, simple black leather, not the one Newt was wearing before, and the same black leash.

Newt blinks and stares down at them, gently chewing on his lower lip. "So, these are yours. Like, stuff you owned before this."

"As I said," Hermann explains, "I'm not opposed to exploring non-normative sexual practices. I've, ah, fooled around, shall we say." He grins when Newt quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, nothing that outlandish." He picks up the collar, flicking the buckle open. "Is this alright? Is this what you want?"

"Herms, I- yeah." Newt nods, leaning in to rest his hands on Hermann's knees. "I want you to put that on me, and I want... fuck." Newt winces. "it sounds dumb."

"Say it," Hermann insists. "I want to know. It's not dumb to me if it's what you want."

Newt swallows, licking his lips. Hermann can see the way Newt’s boxers are tenting, and the wet spot at the center of the peak of the fabric. Hermann's no fool. Newt is clearly aching for this, and Hermann’s own garments are becoming increasingly constrictive at the anticipation of it all.

"I wanna be yours," Newt says, blushing hard. "Like, collar me, put me on my knees, make me listen to your commands. Praise me if I'm good and punish me if I'm bad. Fuck. _Fuck._ " He covers his mouth with one hand, mumbling through his fingers. "Who _wants_  that?"

"Hush," Hermann says. "Stop shaming yourself over it." The man went to a bloody _professional dominant_  instead of asking for what he wanted, what shame is left to have?

Hermann lifts the collar and presses the leather fast around Newt's neck, deftly buckling it int the back. Newt lets out an audible groan and drops his head, shuddering.

"There, that wasn't so hard," Hermann says, reaching a hand up to stroke through Newt's hair. "Does it feel nice?"

"Yeah-" Newt starts, but Hermann taps his mouth.

"A pet doesn't speak, Newton," Hermann chides. "Not unless told to."

He watches and waits to see how Newt will respond, and is please when the other man goes quiet, lips pressed together, his form trembling with anticipation. Waiting for something. Waiting for Hermann to tell him what to do.

Hermann takes the leash and clips it onto the collar, tugging it gently to test its hold. Newt squirms and the blanket slides off his shoulders, exposing his brilliant inked skin to the warm glow of the lamplight. He's gorgeous; Hermann notes the stocky strength of his frame, covered in so much brilliant color, and the way his hair is a scruffy mess of half-curled strands. He sees the shy, almost reverent way Newt is looking him over, trailing has gaze over a form that Hermann can't help but see as lanky and not exactly a 'catch.' But the way Newt _sees_ , that yearning want in his eyes curls a fire under Hermann's toes. He shifts in his own seat, licking his lips.

"Tell me your safe word," Hermann directs.

"Edmund," Newt says, quick as can be.

Hermann frowns. "Is that a good idea? You were having... encounters with him of this nature. Won't it be confusing?" Newt mumbles something, and Hermann gives the leash and short tug. "What was that?"

"I said, I wasn't calling him Edmund when we were having a session," Newt replies. “He, uh. had a different name then.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Hermann grins, firmly pulling on the leash, forcing Newt to get up on his knees and clamber closer, right onto Hermann's lap.

"You wicked, gorgeous creature," Hermann says, soundly kissing the air right out of Newt's lungs, leaving him gasping and whining and writhing in Hermann's lap.

There's a solid heat bucking against Hermann's leg, and he's ever so tempted to just shove Newt's boxers down his hips and explore the territory underneath. But no, slow. There's no need to rush. They've finally made some time for each other.

Newt's whine when Hermann nudges him away is adorably frustrated. He's good at holding his tongue though, begrudgingly moving when Hermann urges him back onto the other couch cushion. Hermann gently guides his head down, so he ends up lying across the cushion, his knees curled up, and his cheek resting on Hermann's knee.

Newt gives Hermann a curious look. Yes, this isn't exactly the most sexual of positions, but this isn't entirely about the sex, is it? At least, that's what Hermann senses.

"I want you to rest," Hermann says, stroking Newt's hair. "You've had quite the ordeal, but you're safe now. And you're listening so well. Such a good pet."

Newt's eyelids droop, and he smiles at the praise, pressing his cheek more firmly to Hermann's leg.

Hermann has the patience of a saint compared to Newt's practically diagnosable lack therof. It's good then, that Newt is following his lead, letting Hermann set the pace. Newt's eyelids droop the rest of the way closed, and soon he's snoring softly, whatever adrenaline he was running on having worn off.

Yes, a nap sounds nice, Hermann thinks to himself as his own eyes drift shut. It's been quite an afternoon, many things learned and many things in the future to explore.

~

Hermann rouses some time later when all the light outside has disappeared. Newt's head is still resting on his lap, and his breathing is the slow and even pace of sleep. It's a peaceable sound that Hermann didn't appreciate until now. Something he didn't know he was so close to losing.

What if Newt hadn't found his way to Hermann's door? What if something had happened to him? Herman has half a mind to march back to Edmund's place and give the man a scolding, but no, it's probably a waste of time. Besides, he's just committed to responsibility for a new pet. He's got more pressing matters.

One of those pressing matters is silently beginning to reassert itself, rising back to attention. Hermann glances down across Newt's sleeping form, and reaches out, skimming a hand across his hip. The reaction he gets is Newt shifting and groaning, twisting his face to breathe deeper against Hermann's leg.

"Newton, wake up," Hermann mutters, stroking the same hand back up. "I know you're comfortable, but I've something urgent for you to attend to."

Newt blinks his eyes open wearily, yawning. "What's-" he starts, but Hermann taps his mouth.

"Still my pet," Hermann chides gently, smiling when Newt darts his tongue out to lick the tip of his finger. "I've a bone for you to chew, if you'd like it. Well, chew isn't the best term for it." He adjusts on the cushion, sliding one hand under his pajama pants, which are loose enough that he can palm himself for some easy relief. "Would you like this, Newton?"

Newt nods as he twists onto his stomach, pushing up on his hands to hover over Hermann's lap, expression eager. Hermann almost laughs because he's never seen anyone so delighted at the prospect of getting at his cock, but then again, no one's ever been as attentive to him as Newton seems willing to be.

It takes only a few shifts of his hips to slip the pajamas down far enough to free his prick. It's thinner but curves tall with a noticeable arc, and Hermann watches as Newt's eyes widen and his mouth pops open, swallowing audibly.

Hermann rests a hand on the back of Newt's head. He doesn't need to apply any pressure; the touch is more for Newt's benefit, to keep him grounded as he lowers his head and wraps his mouth over the head of Hermann's cock.

Hermann groans and throws his head back, fingers curling into Newt's hair. He's so sensitive with the barest of contact, it's utterly mad. He avoids thrusting upwards, wanting to give Newt the time to decide what to do. 

What Newt decides is to take more of Hermann down his throat, humming and sending vibrations through the length. Oh, good lord above that is _marvelous_. 

Hermann sighs and smiles, running his free hand across Newt's back. " _Good boy_ ," he says, because yes, Newt is being so good for him. Newt whines in response, tongue twisting and flicking and exploring all the ways Hermann likes to be given pleasure.

_Praise kink_ , Hermann notes, as if it wasn't already obvious. Well, with Newt's general disdain for authority on a normal day, it's a little surprising, but people's sexual desires don't always match up to their public personality.

Hermann can see Newt thrusting his own hips into the couch, so eager for some sort of friction. Hermann plans on helping him with that soon, but for now, why shouldn't he enjoy himself? And Newt said he liked making Hermann happy. He'll probably get off on some manhandling.

So, Hermann grips Newt's hair in both hands and holds him in place, slowly, carefully starting to thrust upwards. Newt whimpers softly, but he doesn't move, doesn't panic, just stays and lets Hermann use his mouth how he pleases.

" _Newton_ ," Hermann gasps, "Yes, oh... use your tongue a little, just like that- _oh_... such a talented pet you are..."

Newt moans, surging farther down, the heat of his mouth arching Hermann's spine back. The warmth is blooming outwards from his groin, and it's been so long since another man's done this for him, he's not going to last much longer.

Hermann pulls up on the leash, and Newt's mouth leaves his cock with an audible _pop!_  sound, so hard was Newt trying to keep it down his throat. "Open your mouth, my pet," Hermann orders, feeling a rush as Newt obeys and parts his lips, his tongue wagging out right in front of Hermann's prick.

Hermann grasps himself and starts working his shaft. He doesn't need any other stimulation than this and the sight of Newt bowed before him, awaiting his release. Years of experience mean that it takes no time at all before he's shouting and letting loose, his spunk chasing a trail over Newt's tongue, lips, cheeks, chin. Filthy, utterly filthy.

"Lick it up," Hermann commands. "All of it."

Newt is panting, red-faced and shivering as his tongue darts back out, cleaning off his lips, cheeks, chin. Then, like the very good boy he is, he leans down and laps at Hermann's flagging member, finding every bit of release to lick away.

" _God_ , Newton," Hermann groans, watching him with an exhausted fascination. Who would've thought Newton bloody Geiszler would ever be eager to follow orders, and then exceed them?

Hermann drags Newt onto his lap afterwards, shoving his hand under the boxers and grasping Newt firmly. Newt whines and clings to Hermann's shoulders as Hermann licks into his mouth, tasting himself on Newt's tongue. The sensation leaves his overstimulated cock twitching as he roughly drags his hand up and down Newt's prick.

" _Mine_ ," Hermann whispers, his free hand gripping the leash tight and close to keep Newt a hairs breadth away. "My lovely pet. I'm going to take such good care of you."

Newt is blushing in a fierce way, nipping at Hermann's mouth, nails digging into Hermann's upper arms. His encouraging whimpers drive Hermann's hand on faster as he starts listing off ways he plans on taking care of Newt.

“We'll get you a nice new collar,” Hermann says. “Something a little fancier. And a tag with your name, saying you belong to me. Would you like to dress up, feel like a real pet? Some ears, a muzzle, a nice tail plug that you can wag when I'm having my way with you." Newt buries his face in Hermann's shoulder, mouthing something, and it feels too much like language against Hermann's skin for him to ignore. "What was that, Newton? You can tell me."

"Hermann, I just... that's all nice but I just need you, you don't have to get me _anything_ ," Newt says, the last word fading off in a groan.

"Nonsense," Hermann says, flicking his thumb around the head of Newt's cock, delighted at the way he jerks and squirms. "I told you, I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to bloody spoil you, darling. Let's see, what else?" The length in his hand is throbbing, the vein on the underside bumpy in his palm. Newt is putty in Hermann's hands as he keeps stroking, keeps talking. "We'll dress you up finely, maybe get you a nice big bed so you can curl up in it, when you're not being a good boy and taking my cock, of course."

" _F-fuck_ ," Newt gasps, bucking into Hermann's hand. "Can I be bad, too? Will you punish me if I'm disobedient? Chain me up in the yard or something?"

Hermann chuckles, kissing Newt's forehead. "Might be a little difficult here, dear. All I have is the courtyard, and the neighbors would complain. I could get a cage, though. Lock you up when you're being rotten. Keep you in there until I decide you've had enough, or I want to have my way with you. Would you like all that?"

"I- I _shouldn't_ ," Newt says. He's thrusting harder and harder into Hermann's palm, hips rolling in circles, clearly not dissuaded by the conversation at hand. Probably enjoying it a lot; whether it's some fanciful dirty talk or genuine plans for the future. "It's so weird, even for me, Herms... 'm such a freak sometimes..."

"We'll be freaks together, then," Hermann assures him. Truthfully, the thought of Newt wanting this from him, wanting to entrust Hermann with so much responsibility over him is so bloody erotic it's nearly painful, and it's making his own arousal flare back up with renewed interest. "Freaks together, just like we've always been, my dear, sweet pet." He presses his free hand to Newt's mouth, meeting his eyes and smiling. "Hush now, won't you be a good boy and come for me?"

Newt whimpers and nods, and a few moments later, Hermann feels the wet heat spilling over his palm. He works Newt through the orgasm, watching Newt's eyes roll back, his thighs tensing as he jerks forwards. His yell is muffled by Hermann's hand, pitched high and so sweet to Hermann's ears.

_There,_  Hermann thinks, _there's my good boy._

When the last of his energy leaves him, Newt slumps forwards into Hermann's waiting arms.

"Alright?" Hermann asks, running a hand up and down Newt's back.

"Mmmm," Newt answers. "Am I allowed to talk again?"

"If you want," Hermann says. "Am I done treating you like an animal for the evening?"

"For now," Newt says. He lifts his head, pressing a chaste kiss to Hermann's cheek. "Thank you. No one's ever done that for me before."

"I'm not sure anyone expects to," Hermann teases. "But I'll do it any time you like, love. Don't go solving your problems again with professional dominants anymore, alright?"

"In my defense, the plan wasn't to get turned into a dog," Newt quips. "I just didn't have the guts to tell you how I felt and what I wanted, so I asked for help. Next time, I'll consult a therapist who isn't also a witch on the side."

"No," Hermann says. "Next time, just talk to me." He curls his fingers into the ring of Newt's collar, smirking. "Though I do see the positives of this. You're much more reasonable when you're wearing it. Perhaps I'll slip it on you during the next intra-departmental meeting..."

Newt scowls. "Hey, this is our thing. Nobody else gets to be a part of our thing."

"Of course, my pet," Hermann replies, kissing him, mouthing against his lips: "Though I think the tag for your new collar should still have my name and number on it. Just in case you get lost again, of course."

Newt laughs. "Okay," he says. "Just in case. You never know what trouble your pet could get into, being such a smart, cunning creature."

"Oh? Do you have some suggestions?" Hermann asks. He smiles, wide and wickedly.

Of course, Newt has several.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had variations on this fic in my brain with other ships but glad I finally got it out here. It's been too long since I've posted something. Also I have never watched Turn in my life but was shown a very special scene with Burn Gorman, an apple and way too much sexual tension and it just kind of had to happen. Thanks for the help figuring that one out, Trash Snakes :D
> 
> I'm not dead I promise. I've actually got a ton of things in the works. BACK SOON!!!


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